


promotion

by mikantsumiki



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Humanstuck, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikantsumiki/pseuds/mikantsumiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight is the night Dave might get the promotion he’s been working hard for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	promotion

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE IS DUMB AND BORING YADDA YADDA I COULDNT COME UP W/ ANYTHING  
> i hope this isnt stupid wow
> 
> prompt:  
>  _Imagine your OTP getting ready for a formal event. Person A’s tie isn’t tightened enough and Person B fixes it for them. Then Person B pulls Person A by the tie in for a kiss and, just as it’s starting to get good, smirks and mutters that they have to leave. Person A is left with ruffled hair, red cheeks and a whispered promise of more in their ear._

Tonight is the night Dave might get the promotion he’s been working hard for. He says that his boss asked for him to come tonight to this exquisite restaurant down by the beach to discuss where he’s going in the business and you were invited as well.

The two of you are getting ready for it, slipping into something that’s far from casual. He’s got on his black tuxedo—the one you think smells terribly ( _deliciously_ ) like licorice and white jelly beans—and he’s fumbling with his tie, trying to make himself look as professional as possible. His hair’s slicked back with hair gel and his eyes are hidden by a pair of aviators.

You’ve got on your own silky red dress that travels down to mid-thigh and shows off the flicker of your specially designed tattoo, the tail of it just brushing your knee. Your heels make you at least two inches taller than normal and your head finally reaches your husband’s shoulders. Your red hair’s pinned back in a bun and a few curls fall against your cheeks.

You’re adjusting your panty hose for what seems like the third time, calling out to Dave to see if he’s ready. You can hear him grunting in frustration, getting himself tangled up in the tie. You snicker when he manages to accidently make a knot in the fabric.

“Let me do it,” You say softly, grabbing onto the ends of it. You slide it under the flaps of his button down and cross the two parts over, remembering from back when he first had to have you knot his tie for him. He was rigid that day, talking down how he wasn’t going to get hired and that maybe he should look for work somewhere else. You had to convince him that of course they’d want him; there aren’t many guys out there with degrees nowadays trying to take his spot anyway.

Soon, you’ve mastered the art of making a windsor knot, pulling it down hard enough so that it’s snug around his neck. He thanks you with a peck on your forehead before he checks himself out in the mirror, making sure he looks presentable.

When he turns back around to face you, you make a grab for his tie and tug him forward gently until you’re pressing your lips into his. Sure, the two of you have shared many kisses throughout the years of your marriage, and even before that, but each time it also sends a little flutter to your stomach and you swear butterflies live there because they just don’t ever cease.

Your lipstick’s probably smearing, but you don’t care as he bites lightly at your lip, pulling it into his mouth. He sucks on it hard, hands resting on the junction of your hips. You press yourself into him, the curve of your bodies meshing together perfectly like always as you go in for more, his eyelashes brushing against your cheeks.

His tongue prods at your mouth just a bit, asking for entrance even though he knows he’s always allowed in. You comply nonetheless, parting your lips slowly and coaxing him in farther. Your hands come up to the back of his neck, playing with the little hairs on the back of his neck and twirling them around your fingers, pushing them up to run through his locks. Oh well, so much for the work he put into it.

In no time he’s got your backside pinned back the bathroom counter and that’s when you know you’ve got to pull away. “We’re gonna be late,” You mumble into his cheek just as his fingertips ghost the inside of your thigh, a soft shudder leaving your throat.

His hair sticks up some, but it’s nothing he can’t fix with a comb, and his lips are coated with a bit of the shade of red that is on your lips. You probably don’t look any better than he does. He pulls back and tries to wipe the smeary marks you left on him away.

Once it’s gone, you step over to whisper into his shoulder. “When we get home later, your ass is mine, Mr. Strider,” You say, grabbing for your tube, uncapping it and pressing cherry red lipstick to your lips, “That isn’t a threat, it’s a promise.”

“Yes ma’am,” He mocks, though there’s nothing malicious about how he says it.

He fixes himself back up, you reapply your make-up, and the two of you enjoy a nice meal with Dave’s boss, who isn’t actually a bad guy. He tells a few jokes, makes a bunch of comments and goes over your husband’s portfolio before giving him a promotion.

(You two celebrate with hot, wild sex.

The neighbors don’t approve). 


End file.
